


I Hate You

by punnywrites



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Big Feelings Dennis, Daddy Issues, Dennis is a Bastard Man, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Panic Attacks, Prostitution, Sibling Bonding, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 16:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punnywrites/pseuds/punnywrites
Summary: Feelings of rejection start to take a toll on Dennis.





	I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally inspired by a post on tumblr and was supposed to be mostly MacDennis centered, but it ended up taking on a life of it's own and being a piece getting inside Dennis's head and his relationships with Mac, Dee, Frank and Bruce. This is also my first time writing for the Sunny fandom, so I'm really excited to share this! I'd love to hear any feedback!

Dennis’s horrible day starts with Frank, as usual. Frank had the idea that if he could split up Bruce and his new wife, through the divorce he could weasel his way into getting back what Frank believed was rightfully his money from his late wife’s fortune. Despite Dennis repeatedly explaining that there’s no way another couple’s divorce would lead to a third party’s financial gain, Frank and Dee persisted. It evolved into a scheme involving what Dee called a “double agent lawyer”, fake charities, and orphans. Of course, every scheme had a phase one, and this time, that phase was seduction.

“Yeah but how are we even gonna get them to split up?” Dee asks. “Bruce isn’t even gonna let us near him after that last stunt we pulled.”

“We do not need to go near him, Deandra,” Frank says. “We just need his wife to bang another dude.”

“Yeah but that’s ridiculous. How are we gonna do that?”

“Send your brother to do it.”

That catches Dennis’s attention away from his task of peeling the soaking label from his beer bottle. His ears perk up, his jaw clenched. “What?! No! Absolutely not! Frank you are not whoring me out to old ladies again!”

“Why not?” Frank asks nonchalantly. “You’re the best man whore we got.”

“_Man whore?!_” Dennis’s voice almost reaches as high as Charlie’s.

“Yeah,” Frank shrugs, “I’ll pay ya to do it. After we get my money back, that is.”

“No, Frank! I am not going to bang any more old ladies no matter how much you-“

“I’ll give ya ten grand.”

Dennis pauses. The next thing he knows, he’s stripping down in a hotel room in front of a very confused woman who is old enough to be his mother. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved when Bruce walked in on them before anything went too far. Bruce puts together their plot much quicker than Dennis expected.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Dennis,” Bruce says solemnly before he leaves the room with his wife. He barely even knows Bruce, and yet the words are a punch in the gut. His mind tells him he owes nothing to this man who was never a real father to him, and yet he feels crushed by failing to reach someone’s expectations of him. With Bruce out of the room, Dennis pulls his shirt back on. Left alone to clean up another mess someone else made. Another scheme gone perfectly horrendously, only because nobody listened to him in the first place.

He tries to drown his anxieties in obscure 80’s music on his way home. He drives slowly. He doesn’t want to get out of the car. The Range Rover is safe. It’s secure. He loves it, and sometimes it feels like it loves him back- unlike his actual family. He lets his phone ring out when he sees the caller ID from Frank; no doubt he just wants to ask how the banging went. He doesn’t have the patience for being grilled on the night right now. He would tell them tomorrow that the scheme was done and over with and they should all move on. With a sigh, he heads inside.

“Yo!” Mac calls as soon as he hears the door unlocking.

“Yo,” Dennis answers, trying to hide how dejected he feels.

“Bro, check these out,” Mac says proudly. He holds up a pair of nunchucks to Dennis, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come. “Charlie says he found these in the trash! Can you believe that? Who would throw away something so awesome? You know it’s so weird I was just having trouble finding my last pair of these...”

“Mac, can you just,” Dennis says, exasperated, “just take it somewhere else, please? Before you break something?”

“No can do, dude,” Mac says without looking at Dennis. His focus is laser sharp on God knows what as he kicks and whips around his sweet new (old) set of nunchucks. “I gotta practice my form.”

“Your form?! Mac, why- come on- why do you even have those things?” Dennis grows increasingly desperate for the chaos to stop. He can’t deal with this today; not on top of Dee and Frank’s bullshit.

“Uh, one, they’re nunchucks and they’re sweet,” Mac sasses him, “and two, Charlie and me found this awesome looking alley like five blocks away that would be the perfect place for a Project Badass video! And Frank says he’s got a guy that might- oh SHIT!”

That’s when the two of them realize why the nunchucks were in the dumpster. One of the chain links breaks and sends half of the weapon across the room, into a lamp two feet away from where Dennis is standing. The crash is deafening.

“Oh, goddammit! GODDAMMIT!” Dennis shrieks. He can’t take any more. He faces away from Mac,leans in on his fists close against the wall and screams in rage.

“Dennis,” Mac tries to interject.

“WHAT?!” he snaps around.

“Dennis, I’m sorry.”

“YOU SHOULD BE!”

“Oh, come on Den-“

“I told you to take it outside but did you listen to me? Noooo no one ever GODDAMN LISTENS TO ME!”

“I always listen to you, dude,” Mac counters him, trying to regain some sense of calm in the situation. He’s used to these types of screaming matches with his roommate and isn’t in the mood for another one today, especially after he’s already apologized.

“DO YOU? Because if you did, there wouldn’t be this mess all over the place, now would there?” Dennis gestures around him, but aside from a couple chunks of the ceramic lamp on the floor, the place is fine.

“Oh please,” Mac waves an arm at him, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?! Because you’re being an idiot! As usual!”

That hurt. “As usual? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re an uncivilized, juvenile moron and I’m sick of you ruining- you just- you ruin everything!” Dennis turned around, covering his eyes to hide the tears of rage that were stinging them.

“I’m not an idiot…” Mac mumbles, hanging his head low.

“I’m just- I’m sick of your dumb karate antics and you acting like you’re goddamn Cobra Kai, and you’re always on that fucking bike and it’s keeping me up all night and I—"

“I thought you liked my karate moves,” Mac says.

“Come on Mac, no one likes your karate moves,” Dennis snaps. His mind has taken too much today to the point where it has shut off again, and he lets his mouth run off and do what it wants in the moment.

“Charlie likes my moves,” Mac quietly stands up for himself.

“Charlie- Charlie just- he doesn’t- he doesn’t know- I mean it’s hardly even karate for Christ’s sake!” Dennis sputters the words aimlessly.

“Don’t take His name in vain like that, goddammit! And hey, I like my karate moves! My nunchucks are badass! And you know what? I didn’t even like that stupid lamp anyway and neither did you!” Mac yells back.

“The lamp is not the point, Mac!” Dennis says. “The point is I’m sick and tired of these antics- this- this buffoonery- I just- I hate it! I HATE IT!” he shrieks.

“Well you know what Dennis?” Macs snaps. He’s not going to take this anymore. “I hate your judginess! I hate that you boss me around and tell me what to do and how to act and who to be! I hate that you never say anything nice to me at all when I’m always nice to you, and I try and be a good friend, but you always put me down, man! You hate me so much? Well guess what Dennis! I hate you too!”

With his rant over, Mac slumps down on the couch with a heavy sigh. He feels the weight of the emotions temporarily lift from his shoulders. When he looks up however, those high-pressured emotions are replaced by guilt, settling itself heavily in his gut, when he sees his roommate.

Dennis feels the wind knocked out of him. _I hate you_. The floor drops out from beneath him._ I hate you_. His brain repeats. _I hate you. I hate you. I hate you._ He grips the countertop because it’s the nearest steady surface he can find, and his eyes look down to his feet, though he hardly sees anything through the cloud of panic. He feels like he’ll pass out or scream or vomit or die. He gags on his own pitiful inhales, one hand planted on the counter to keep him standing, and the other clutching at his chest, willing the air to stop being so tight around his neck.

“Dennis?” Mac says quietly but gets no answer. Dennis frantically shakes his head and rushes into his room. “Dennis! Hey!” Mac leaps up to follow him, but the door is slammed in his face. “Den!” As Mac reaches for the door handle, he hears the click of the lock. “Come on Dennis, you know I didn’t mean it! Just please open the door,” he pleads.

Behind the door, Dennis is slumping to the ground, hugging his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath. His shaking hands grasp at a nearby pillow that had been thrown on the floor, and he hugs it to his chest, rocking and sputtering for air.

_I hate you._ He hears Mac’s voice echoing his worst fear in the world._ I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you._

The echo won't stop.

_I’m disappointed in you, Dennis. _

_Man whore. _

_I hate you. _

He clenches his eyes shut, forcing out the sound of the pounding door- or is it his pulse in his own head? He can’t be sure- and does his best to breathe slowly.

_Mac didn’t mean that_, he reassures himself, although it doesn’t work very well._ If anything, Mac is in love with me, right? Stupid gay Mac, always coming onto me… I thought he was in love with me. Mac is supposed to love me. He can’t hate me. He can’t. Dee hates me. Frank hates me. Everyone hates me. I hate me. Mac isn’t supposed to hate me._

His breathing exercises aren’t working. He doesn’t feel calmer. All he feels is tears stinging his cheeks and white-hot anger running through his body, ripping him apart from the inside vein by vein. He screams into the pillow.

When he opens his eyes, the sun is fully set. He must have worn himself out and fell asleep in the corner. A light knock comes from the other side of the door.

“What do you want, Mac?” he calls, his voice hoarse.

“It’s Dee, open up.”

One more deep breath. He opens the door.

“What the fuck? What happened?”

Dennis rubs his eyes. “Oh, yeah, Mac was doing some stupid shit and he broke the lamp.”

“I’m not talking about the lamp, idiot!” Dee snaps at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m talking about the plan! What happened with Bruce’s wife! You haven’t been answering your phone. Frank and I have been calling you for hours!”

He slumps back down on the bed. “I couldn’t do it.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t do it, okay Dee?” he says. “Bruce walked in before anything happened.”

“Yeah well maybe he would’ve at least caught you in the act if you weren’t so goddamn slow at banging chicks…”

An extra twist of the knife. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Alright, well then why haven’t you been answering your phone?” Dee narrows her eyes, cocking her head to the side.

Dennis kept his head hanging low. The lump in his throat keeping him from speaking.

“You have another episode?” she asks softly and sits on the bed next to him.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” he hisses. It’s a reflex he quickly regrets as she answers him with a pointed stare. Dennis shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “Mac hates me,” he whispers.

“What?! Who the hell told you that?”

“Mac…?” he looks at her with wounded puppy eyes and a pouty face so pitiful she feels disgusted by it.

“Okay, well, I’m pretty sure Mac doesn’t hate you,” Dee says. “You two are so far up each other’s assholes it’d be impossible to pull you apart at this point. I mean the man _peels your apples_ for you.”

“Yeah I guess that’s true…”

“Although if he did hate you it’s not like he wouldn’t have a good reason to—”

“Okay you’re not helping, Dee!” he says. His face is growing red again. “Frank’s making me do stuff I don’t wanna do- I mean it’s way beneath me I mean come on even you have to see that- and then Bruce walks in like he’s some sort of- you know- saint, and he judges me like he’s any better of a person than I am or like he has any say over what I do! I mean it’s not like he cared to actually raise us! He just left us with _Frank,_ a man who whores out his own—” His own what? Frank isn’t his father. Dennis isn’t his son. He feels the air tightening again. “And I come home, and Mac is being so goddamn irritating and then he- and I just- I just can’t do it anymore, Sweet Dee. I can’t.”

Dee rubs a hand on his back. “I know,” she says with a sad smile.

“Why are you being nice to me anyway? You fucking hate me too,” Dennis says, pulling away from her.

“I mean… yeah I kinda do. But… you’re my brother, so…”

Dennis feels like if they were a normal family- normal people- that sentence would be ended with an I-love-you, but he knows his sister. He knows she’d never say something like that to him, and if he’s being honest with himself, she doesn’t have much reason to. But that’s as close as he’ll ever get to that from her, and he’s grateful for it.

“Plus, you’re super irritating when you’re sad.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Thanks, sis.”

The moment of silence between them is content and comfortable before Dee breaks it. “Hey.” She holds out her hand. “Golden Geese forever, right?”

Dennis slaps his hand down into hers and shakes it firmly. “Golden Geese.”

Dee gets up, grabs her bag, and heads for the door. “I better see you at the bar tomorrow night or I’m gonna kick your ass,” she smiles.

“Whatever, bird,” Dennis smirks.

Dee’s smile quickly falls into a glare. She rolls her eyes and walks out.

_Yeah_, Dennis thinks with a smile, _she hates me._


End file.
